Gre. To move, is to stir; and to be valiant, is to stand to it: therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou ru'nst away.

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand:

I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.

Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant; when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids; I will cut off their heads. Gre. The heads of the maids?

Sam. The heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. paradi

Gre. They must take it in sense, that feel it. Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand: and, 'tis known, I am a pretty piece of flesh.

Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here come two of the house of the Montagues.

Enter Abram and Balthasar.

Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will
back thee.

Gre. How? turn thy back, and run?
Sam. Fear me not.

Gre. No, marry: I fear thee!

Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

Gre. I will frown, as I pass by; and let them take it as they list.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? [it. Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, si
Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say-ay?
Gre. No.

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.

Gre. Do you quarrel, sir?
Abr. Quarrel sir? no, sir.

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you; I serve as good a man as you.

Abr. No better.
Sam. Well, sir.

Enter Benvolio, at a distance.

Gre. Say-better; here comes one of my mas ter's kinsmen.

Sam. Yes, better, sir.

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. Rom. Good heart, at what?

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.→→→
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine: this love, that thou hast
shown,

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke, rais'd with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire, sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea, nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

[going.

Ben. Soft, I will go along; And if you leave me so, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. Ben. Tell me in sadness, who she is you love. Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee? Ben. Groan? why no;

But sadly tell me, who.

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!— In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd.

Rom. A right good marksman! And she's fair I love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not be With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit; [hit And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty; only poor

That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. Ben. That she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste?

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;

For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.

She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair.
She hath forsworn to love; and, in that vow,
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O teach me how I should forget to think. Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beautics.

Rom. 'Tis the way

To call her's, exquisite, in question morc.
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-sight lost.
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair;
Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget.

Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. [exeunt.

SCENE II. A STREET.

Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant. Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before.
My child is yet a stranger in the world,
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. [made.
Par. Younger than she are happy mothers
Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early
made.

The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she;
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
As she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more..
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light.
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,
And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me.-Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, [gives a paper]
and to them say,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[exeunt Capulet and Paris.

Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here? It is written-that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last; the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned:-in good time.

Enter Benvolio and Romeo. Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning;

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp, by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another's languish:
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?

Rom. For your broken shin.

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is:

Shut up in prison, kept without my food, [fellow, Whipp'd, and tormented, and-Good-e'en, go

Serv. God gi' good e'en. I pray, sir, can you read?

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without book:

But I pray, can you read any thing you see? Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. Serv. Ye say honestly; rest you merry! Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. [reads. 'Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters; County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.'

A fair assembly: [gives back the note.] whither should they come? Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither?

Serv. To supper; to our house.
Rom. Whose house?
Serv. My master's.

[fore. Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that beServ. Now, I'll tell you without asking: my master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry. [exit.

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st; With all the admir'd beauties of Verona: Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crów.

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires! And these, who, often drowned, could never Transparent heretics, he burnt for liars! [die, One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun, Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself pois'd with herself in either eye: But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you, shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [exeunt. SCENE III. A ROOM IN CAPULET'S HOUSE.

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. Lady C. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. [year old, Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve I bade her come. What, lamb! what, lady-bird! God forbid! where's this girl? what, Juliet! Enter Julict.

Jul. How now, who calls?

Nurse. Your mother.

Jul. Madam, I am here.

What is your will?

[awhile,

Lady C. This is the matter. Nurse, give leave We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our coun

Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour Lady C. She's not fourteen.

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but She's not fourteen. How long is it now [four,To Lammas-tide?

Lady C. A fortnight, and odd days.

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen.
Susan and she,-God rest all Christian souls!!
Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God:
She was too good for me: But, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd, I never shall forget it,
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall.
My lord and you were then at Mantua:
Nay, I do bear a brain :-but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool!
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug.
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need !
To bid me trudge.
[trow.

And since that time it is eleven years:
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about.
For even the day before, she broke her brow:
And then my husband-God be with his soul;
A' was a merry man;-took up the child:
'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast mere
wit!

Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holy-dam.
The pretty wretch left crying, and said, 'Ay."
To see now, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule?"
quoth he:

And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said, ' Ay.'

Lady C. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy

peace. [laugh, Nurse. Yes, madam; yet I cannot choose but To think it should leave crying, and say, Ay,' And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone; A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly. 'Yea,' quoth my husband, 'fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward, when you com'st to age; Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted, and said, 'Ay.' Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, suy I.

Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee

to his grace!

Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.

Lady C. Marry, that marry is the very theme
I came to talk of.-Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?
Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.
Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only
nurse,

Lady C. Well, think of marriage now; younger Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, [than you, Are made already mothers: by my count, I was your mother much upon these years, That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief; The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man, As all the world-Why, he's a man of wax. Lady C. Verona's summer hath not such a flower.

Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. [tleman? Lady C. What say you? can you love the genThis night you shall behold him at our feast: Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content; And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies, Find written in the margin of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a a cover: The fish lives in the sea; and 'tis much pride, For fair without, the fair within to hide: That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; So shall you share all that he doth possess, By having him, making yourself no less. [men, Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by Lady C. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love. Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye, Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. Enter a Servant.

Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper serv'd up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity, I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight, Lady C. We follow thee. Juliet, the county stays. OR 107 Iriate [days. Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights happy [exeunt. SCENE IV.A STREET, H Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others. Rom. What, shall this speech be spoken for our excuse?

Or shall we on without apology?

to

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But, let them measure us by what they will, We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. Rom. Give me a torch, I am not for this amBeing but heavy, I will bear the light. [bling; Mer. Nay,gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes, With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead, So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above common bound.

a

Rom. I am too sore empierced with his shaft, To soar with his light feathers; and so bound,

[putting on a mask.

A visor, for a visor !—what care I,
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.
Ben. Come, knock, and enter: and no sooner in,
But every man betake him to his legs.

Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels:
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on,-
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. [word:

Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears.-Come, we burn day-light, ho. Rom. Nay, that's not so.

Mer. I mean, sir, in delay

We waste our lights in vain, like damps by day.
Take our good meaning; for our judgment sits
Five times in that, ere once in our five wits.
Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask;
But 'tis no wit to go."

Mer. Why, may one ask?

Rom. I dream't a dream to-night.
Mer. And so did I.

[true.

Rom. Well, what was yours?
Mer. That dreamers often lic.
Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things
Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with
She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes you.
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep :
Her waggon spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams:
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film:
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time
out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love:
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies
straight:

O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees:
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream;
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues.
Because their breaths with sweat-meats tainted are
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail.